


Muzzle

by ritsuko



Series: Die Hündin von HYDRA [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Beating, Blood, Blood and Injury, Broken Bucky Barnes, Caning, Cutting, Disobeying Orders, HYDRA Trash Party, Handcuffs, Injury, Knifeplay, Mind Manipulation, Pierce is a dick, Psychological Trauma, Punishment, Stitches, Violence, so is Rumlow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 01:40:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2529311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ritsuko/pseuds/ritsuko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't like to be upset with you. You make your marks. You be a good boy. You don't get punished. Understood?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Muzzle

**Author's Note:**

> In order to fit in with canon, this probably happens around the time between Steve's defrosting, and CA:TWS.

Something went wrong. One botched mission, twelve injured HYDRA agents and three more dead. Brock should consider himself lucky, that the asset's blade had just scraped off of his body armor and only given him twenty-two stitches.

He should, but he's so fucking angry right now because he knows he might be blamed for it.

Pierce slams the door to the makeshift infirmary open, eyes like daggers. He glowers at Rumlow before stalking past him to his true target. The soldier is kneeling, bound with arms painfully cinched behind him to his ankles. It took everything to hold him down and strip him, just to make sure that no more weapons were concealed on him. The muzzle is back on because the crazy bastard had taken a fucking chunk out of a newbie's arm.

Suddenly, his body is taut, Pierce's hand fisted in his hair, and the soldier's body raises in the air to accommodate the pain. "What. Was. THAT." The older man's voice is silken, smooth and utterly dangerous. The asset's throat is bared, eyes shining with an emotion akin to fear. 

A sound akin to a whine is muffled behind the muzzle, and the asset is slapped hard enough that his head snaps back. There's a red welt where Pierce's wedding band has connected with the soldier's cheek, millimeters from his eye. Those steely orbs radiate confusion and are dilated with terror.

"You listen to me. You've really messed up this time. Didn't I tell you? When you mess up, you have to be punished, don't you? And you've messed up bad."

The asset starts to shake, hard. Pierce's fingers slip to the latch on the muzzle, clicking it open. It clatters to the floor. Blood is dripping down the man's chin where he was biting his lip to keep from speaking out of turn. The older man's fingertips trace the curve of the asset's jaw soothingly.

"What happened?" He asks, voice deceivingly gentle, but the soldier looks at the floor unable to meet the other man's gaze. With a sigh, Pierce yanks his first hard. A hank of the asset's hair comes away with it, and it's obvious that the brunette is choking back a scream. "Tell me right now, goddammit, or you are going to regret each breath you take."

It's evident by the panicked look the asset gives that in this state, he already believes it. But he swallows harshly, voice coming out in little more than a whisper. ". . . compromised."

Pierce's eyes flick to Rumlow, and the other man raises his hands. "Don't look at me. He's the one who fucking went ballistic. Everything was fine and he just went crazy." It's the truth. Just a routine strike at a parade, that ended with their sniper putting bullets in their own men.

Breathing heavily through his nose, the older man tries again."You're going to have to give me more than that, soldier." Pierce states, walking around the asset.

". . . shield."

Pierce's eyes shoot up. Did the soldier know? If so, who leaked it? The look on Brock's face must appease him that he knows nothing, has said nothing, because he looks back down. "You saw something? A human shield? An ambush? What?"

"The target. . . with a child. A shield. Red, white and blue. It was. . ." The asset tapers off, flinching again at the look on Pierce's face. It's always been rumored, that somehow, the brunette has known Captain America, that this isn't the first time that he's shirked away from responsibility in the field, but it is the first that he hasn't followed through.

The other man sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.

"Who. . ." The asset licks cracked lips tentatively, fearful and hollow eyed. "Who am I?" 

Pierce crouches down in front of the brunette, a look of disappointment on his face. "You're our greatest asset. Our fist. You do the things that make all of the differences in the world. Except today. You fucked up. And you will be punished."

The soldier looks fervently up at the man, tears in his eyes. Rumlow's never seen him this emotive before. It could be chalked up to how long he's been out of cryo, or these visions messing with his programming. It's not like he knows.

With a sigh, Pierce strokes his thumb along the asset's jaw. "You have to be a good boy, remember?" He murmurs softly, and all at once, it's the creepiest fucking thing that Rumlow's ever seen. The soldier gives a hiccuping cry, and nods, tears streaming down his face.

Pierce looks at the knife on Rumlow's belt and holds out his hand. Of course he hands it over, but worries for a split second that the man is going to stab the asset, let him bleed out and cry himself to death, alone and unknown in the middle of the floor.

That knife edge slides on the soldier's back, all fancy loops and writing. He can tell the brunette is trembling underneath the slight pressure of the blade, waiting for it to cut too deep, for the pain to grow.

Minutes pass, and the older man finishes. Pierce steps back and admires his handiwork- perfect cursive letters etched into flesh that's been scarred many, many times. Blood wells in places knicked too deep, but overall, it's legible.

_It_  
is only  
a   
WEAPON 

With that, Pierce hands the knife back, and reaches for Brock's retractable stun baton on his own. As it snaps out to full size, it makes an ominous click. The asset shakes harder.

"Remember, you did this to yourself. You HAVE to follow your orders." Pierce states matter of factly, and then brings the baton down on hunched shoulders.

Brock watches the pain blossom across the soldiers back, and increasingly starts to feel sorry for the other man. Welts start to raise, skin starts to split, and red starts to rain down with each strike. The man's screams quiet into hollow breathing, grey eyes unfocused and utterly not there anymore. By the time Pierce is done, the asset's back is a mess of bloody, raw stripes. 

The baton clatters to the floor, and Rumlow watches the older man ensnare the asset's chin in his grasp, guiding that gaze up to his own. "I don't like to be upset with you. You make your marks. You be a good boy. You don't get punished. Understood?"

The asset blinks docily up at Pierce, only the slightest nod of his head to indicate that he has understood. The man turns, and rolls down his sleeves, eying Rumlow. "Muzzle him. Let the men use him, and then get him cleaned and prepped for cryo. I have to go handle this mess."

The clacking of dress shoes on concrete fades as Rumlow, watches the asset. Those eyes follow Pierce as he leaves, but not one flicker of emotion crosses them. He stares long after the man is gone.

For a split second, he thinks about bringing the asset to the techs, getting him cleaned up, and letting him go into cryo without letting the man suffer anymore. 

Then he remembers his twenty-two stitches. 

His hands are on his walkie before he can second guess himself with ridiculous emotions like feeling sorry for the asset. 

After all, he has his orders, and he's seen what happens to people who don't follow them.


End file.
